


Pay By The Hour, But Don't Leave Too Soon

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Self-cest, Sexual Fantasy, Succubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is the last time," he tells her, heading toward the door.</p><p>"That’s what you always say. But I end up wearing his face for you again and again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pay By The Hour, But Don't Leave Too Soon

The body he has pressed face first against the wall is perfectly poised, hands braced and legs spread. Appreciative moans bounce off the walls of the cheap motel room along with the obscenely wet slap of skin on skin with every thrust he makes. He grips one hip and runs a hand up the spine of a pristine back, sliding his fingers into messy brown hair. When he pulls, the body beneath him keens before tapering off into a pleasure filled chuckle. Warm brown eyes peek over a broad shoulder to look at him with amusement before biting a lip and pushing back into his pelvis to match his demanding pace. It’s a move so practiced and perfect that it seems natural and easy.

In frustration, he surges forward, shoving the body even closer against the wall and lifting one leg high with a hand that’s sprouted claws. Those appreciative moans become surprised, punched out sounds as he stops holding back, forcing himself into that welcoming heat harder and deeper. Hands clutching the wall begin to curl and the body trapped between it and his chest starts to shake apart, panting shamelessly.

He pulls out before he comes, pulling the body from the wall and pushing it down to kneel before him. It only takes a couple of harsh strokes before he’s painting that mole covered face with his seed. An eager mouth opens to catch what it can, bringing long fingers up to collect what it couldn’t and bring it to a pink tongue.

Derek watches and tries not to hate himself.

-

"You know," the succubus says as she exits the bathroom, hair wet and wearing a robe, "it’s not every day that I get regulars." Derek remains quiet as he pulls on his shoes. She crawls lengthwise on the bed and leisurely picks up the photo on the nightstand. "Usually people get too wiped out after a night with me. Some find it _unsettling_ ,” she says with a smirk in her voice. Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. She watches him with a searching eye before looking at the photo again. “I can appreciate a wolf with stamina. And taste too,” she says, turning the picture to him. “He’s certainly cute.”

Derek finally looks up from his shoelaces. There, captured in a split-second moment, is Stiles’ face caught in the middle of a laugh that makes his entire face seem to glow as he looks somewhere off to his left. It’s a shot pilfered from one of Scott’s photo albums and just looking at it in her hands makes Derek feel like the depraved pervert that he is. Guiltily, he looks back down.

"Hey now," the succubus says, moving closer to him. "What’s wrong, baby?" she asks in seductively soothing tones, her blue eyes changing to Stiles’ brown. And that, Derek thinks to himself. _That_ is what’s wrong.

There’s only so much she can do with a photo. And as satisfying as the experience is, Derek can’t help but wonder about all the things she can’t fake. He wonders what it’s like to see a back most likely not creamy and clear, but dotted with moles arch to the touch of his hand. He wants to hear a string of curses and demands, not the variations of “Yeah, baby, just like that,” that ring false in his ears. He wants to feel the rabbit fast pace of a nervous virgin’s heart, not the steady, confident pulse of a professional.

What he wants is currently still so illegal that it hurts.

Shaking his head dismissively, he stands up and walks to the wobbly table to collect his wallet. He stiffly fishes out a handful of bills and tosses them next to her purse.

"This is the last time," he tells her, heading toward the door.

"That’s what you always say," a suddenly different voice says behind him. "But I end up wearing his face for you again and again." Derek turns and takes in the illusion of Stiles leaning back on his hands, robe pulled open. Angrily, he tears his eyes away from that lean chest and slams the door on his way out, pretending that he can’t hear her amused laugh at his back.

-

Her name is Delilah Williams (succubus; $550,000) and she’s as hot as the sun, maybe twice as deadly. She’s a sex phone operator among… other things. Drives a shiny new Mustang and has about thirty outstanding parking tickets.

And she keeps smiling her creepy sex demon smile at Stiles as if she knows something.

 

"A deadpool," she says, entirely unconcerned. She continues to ignore Scott and Mr. Argent in favor of staring Stiles down and making him nervous. "That’s how you found me."

"You know, you’re pretty calm for someone who just found out they’re marked for death," Stiles tells her, pushing the list forward. She doesn’t even bother looking down at it.

"Seven months," she says instead. "Seven months of me wearing your face and you still haven’t got a clue."

"What do you mean?" Scott asks her. Finally she looks at him and Argent, shaking her head and placing her hands on the table .

"This was real sweet of you, gentleman, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself." She moves to stand but Stiles practically throws himself across of the table.

"Whoa, wait! Wearing my face? What the hell is that?" he asks. Delilah just smiles her wicked smile as she gathers up her purse and jacket.

"You’ve got a secret admirer," she says. And then she’s gone, just walks out the door like nothing in the world has changed. Wearing his face? As in wearing his face to work? Sex work? Stiles turns to Scott and Argent but both of them look startled and uncomfortable.

"Hey," Scott starts, pulling his chair closer to Stiles. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I’m fine," Stiles says absently. Neither of them looks convinced. Stiles stands up, arms moving in unnecessarily jerky motions from too much nervous energy, and tries to make himself appear as relaxed as possible. Argent actually walks over to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Succubi are unpleasant," he begins. "What they can do, making themselves look like another person? It’s an unforgivable violation of your autonomy. Not to mention the reason they-" Argent cuts himself off with a wince.

And Stiles gets it. He does. He should feel violated in some way. He should be angry and maybe a little scared. Someone out there is paying a creature like a succubus to _be_ him in order to-

-

Stiles closes the door to him room and sags against it, hands immediately reaching for the top of his jeans. Tearing them open, he reaches inside of his boxers with a hiss. Someone is sexing up a succubus because they want to sex him up. Just thinking about it - _seven months_ \- has his imagination running wild and his dick rock hard.

Stroking himself, he wonders what his admirer likes; are they on a bed? Is it in a car? Is Delilah fucking them with his face on or is she being fucked. He shivers at the thought and runs with it, hand gathering precome at the head and quickening its pace.

He bets she’s bent over something, a table, the hood of said car, rocking back into every hard thrust. He wonders if she whimpers like he does on his own fingers, but no. She’s a professional. It’s probably nothing but thick moans and dirty talk. But what about his admirer? Does he pull at her waist or her shoulders? No, Stiles thinks, picturing it all clearly as he fucks up into his hand. In his mind his admirer grips her- _him_ by the hips, digging into his skin and pulling him back over and over onto someone else’s cock.

Stiles shoves his pants and underwear down further and then sucks on his own fingers until they’re good and wet. It’s not ideal, but he reaches back and circles his hole, letting out a needy noise when his rim twitches. He’s maybe a little over zealous when he starts out with two fingers, but the pull and sting only make him more desperate. He wants it, _needs_ it. Would he say that to his admirer as he’s being rammed into? Or would he be nothing but a mess making nonsense noises and hiccuping moans.

He comes all over his hand, his hole clenching greedily around his fingers in time with his convulsions. His legs give out and he slides the rest of the way down, panting and twitching.

He is so fucked.

-

She picks up on the first ring and shit shit _fuck_ , he is not ready, he needs at least three rings for mental preparation.

"How did you get this number?" is the very first thing she says when answering. Stiles clears his throat and tries not to throw up, he’s so nervous.

"You, uh, you gave us your business card," he stammers. Well. Technically she gave it to Argent when they managed to track her down, with a smile and a wink and awkwardness all around. Delilah’s cautious tone immediately turns low and seductive.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite evening dress," she says. Stiles is pretty sure his entire body turns red. He flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing. "Still there?" Delilah asks.

"Y-yeah! Uh, I’m here. I’m totally… not gone."

"Is there something you wanted?" she asks. And then she practically purrs, "Is there something you _needed_?” Stiles buries his face in the hand not holding his cell phone and mumbles. “Beg your pardon?”

"A name!" he says, wincing when it comes out so much louder than he intended. "I-I need the name. Of the guy. The guy who hires you for- for, uh- for me. You know, if it’s not too much to ask…"

"Oooh, sorry, love. I have a strict client confidentiality policy," she tells him.

"Not even a hint?" he tries, but the disappointment is already settling in. His nerves pick up again when Delilah is silent over the line for a few seconds.

"The motel outside of town, the one with the bright blue sign. Do you know it?" she asks.

"The one that charges by the hour?"

"Mmm. Midnight tonight. You should come see me."

"I-I, uh!" Stiles stammers again. "It’s a school night and-"

"Midnight. Room 106. I’ll make it worth your while, trust me." She hangs up before Stiles can even process.

He thinks he might actually be fucked for real.

-

He takes a taxi to the motel. No way in hell is he parking his very recognizable Jeep outside of a known establishment of questionable dealings. His father is the _sheriff_. It would take one concerned citizen making a call and Stiles would be grounded for the rest of his natural born life. He even shows up ten minutes to midnight just so he can stand outside of the streetlight doing deep breathing exercises until he’s lightheaded.

Delilah opens the door before he even has a chance to knock.

"Look who decided to show up," she says, predatory smile in place. Stiles swallows and moves into the room when she steps aside. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but her being in nothing but a loose fitting white shirt and comfortable looking pants isn’t it. "Relax," she tells him, closing the door and walking over to sit on the bed.

"I’m relaxed!" Stiles insists, despite wringing his hands. She gives him a disbelieving look. "So about my admirer-"

"I want to get to know _you_ better, Stiles,” Delilah says, leaning back on her hands. “I take pride in my profession; I like to provide accurate fantasies for my clients. And I’ve got to say, something tells me I haven’t managed to quite satisfy one of them when it comes to you.”

"Uh-" Once again Stiles works his jaw, too distracted by the images brought to mind to know what to say. Suddenly she stands up, walking toward him so closely that he trips over himself to back step until he hits a wall.

"What is it that warms your blood, Stiles?" she asks, pressing her chest against his. Stiles scrunches his eyes closed and tries not to pass out. Then he feels something shift, the softness of her breasts becoming flat and hard. When his eyes fly open, Derek is staring back at him.

"Oh my god," he wheezes. Derek’s face smirks at him, stepping closer if that’s even possible. A leg moves in between his knees and just as he opens his mouth - to moan, to squeak in a manly fashion - a tongue slips into his mouth and rough stubble scrapes deliciously against his skin.

He has no idea what to do with his hands, flailing for a moment before decisively pressing them into the wall behind him. She chuckles in Derek’s voice, a sound that makes Stiles push forward into that mouth. Lips and tongue oblige him, accompanied by teeth and nipping bites. It’s so engrossing that he doesn’t hear the door handle turn next to them. He does notice when the scrap of stubble turn smooth and the shape of the mouth against his changes.

When he opens his eyes, he’s looking at himself.

But his doppelganger is looking to the side, an uncharacteristically  seductive smirk pulling at lips that look like his. At Derek. Real Derek. Who’s just walked through the door and is staring at them as if he has no idea what twilight zone he just walked into. The succubus presses their identical cheeks together and hums.

"The admirer finally makes it to his appointment," she says in Stiles’ voice. Stiles looks to her in surprise, his eyes darting between her and Derek. The man’s face goes from bright red to sickly white in seconds. Neither of them says anything, and Stiles wonders if Derek is like him, honestly too shocked and too scared to move.

But Delilah does it for them. She grabs Stiles by the chin and engages him in another kiss. It’s so _weird_! It’s his face and his mouth but he still can’t help but fall into it and move in a counter rhythm. He hears a shaky exhale of breath from Derek and cracks his eyes open. He can’t see well in his peripheral, but he does make out Derek’s hand moving down toward his crotch before his hand clenches and pulls away.

Stiles makes frustrated noise when his own face pulls away, but he stays plastered to the wall and watches himself approach Derek. Derek’s eyes can’t seem to decide which of him to focus on so he closes them when a hand runs under his shirt and pushes it up slowly.

"Show him, Derek," Stiles hears his voice say, muffle though it is as Delilah mouths at Derek’s jaw. "Show him what you want." Derek’s eyes snap open and lock with Stiles as he stands stone still, almost as if he’s asking permission. Swallowing again, Stiles licks his lips as he forces himself to relax against the wall, toying with the button of his jeans.

It’s all the permission Derek’s needs.

He rips off the white shirt that she’s wearing in a flash, and Stiles takes a confused moment to wonder where all of his moles have gone before he remembers that he’s not watching some vivid dream play out. Derek’s jacket and shirt land next to hers before he turns her around and pushes her down. She accommodates him, and Stiles watches himself get down on knees and push down those pants before sexily crawling forward to lean against folded arms. Can he actually move like that? Shoulders down and hips tilted up, presenting his ass perfectly?

Derek doesn’t bother taking off his jeans, just pops his fly and wrenches his zipper open. He’s wearing nothing underneath and Stiles mouth waters when his brings his cock out. He has to bite on his lip just to keep his tongue to himself. It doesn’t stop the needy sound that slips out, and Derek looks back up to him with hunger in his eyes. He grabs himself at the base of his cock and kneels behind the succubus.

Stiles can’t get his pants open fast enough when Derek actually bends his face toward the ass presented to him and starts by licking between cheeks in a slow strip. Derek pauses to bite into the flesh of one when an eager moan fill the room, Stiles or Delilah’s, he doesn’t know. Stiles watches as he gets more into it, hands holding that ass open as he delves in with his tongue. The version of Stiles on the floor begins to rock with it, pressing back into Derek’s face in a controlled fashion. _How_? How can she be so fucking relaxed when Derek fucking Hale is eating her out? Stiles’ abdomen clenches and he has to stop stroking to keep himself from coming. Christ, these two haven’t even started and he’s already at the edge.

His own brown eyes peek up at him. No, he thinks. That look is all wrong. He wouldn’t be smirking and calm. He’d be a fucking mess by now, an embarrassing puddle of teenage hormones and bodily fluids. The break in immersion helps keep him from losing it too soon, but he looks back to Derek anyway. The man is already straightening up and positioning himself behind her. Catching Stiles gaze, Derek slides into the body beneath him, inch by inch until he’s bottomed out.

And then he doesn’t look away. Derek runs his hand up that back and uses the other to grasp a hip, but he keeps his eyes on him, watching as Stiles strokes himself in time with Derek’s thrusts. Almost experimentally, Derek rotates his hips a couple of times before picking up his pace slightly and Stiles matches it. Stiles breaks their connection, glancing down at that still smirking face and frowns. He looks back at Derek.

"Pull my hair," he says, voice thick. Derek’s hips stutter and slow, but he doesn’t stop. "I want you to pull my hair." 

Derek blinks at Stiles before reaching forward, burying his fingers in hair like his and pulling back. His look-a-like hisses and moans, mouth falling open. Better, Stiles thinks, but not enough.

"Is that it?" Stiles asks, squeezing himself tighter. "Is that all you wanna do to me?" Derek almost seems lost, looking between him and the body below him. "Harder," Stiles tells him. "Please." The next thrust rocks Delilah’s body forward enough that she has to brace herself, and Stiles watches his own mouth fall open into an O. "Faster," Stiles says, hand picking up its pace along his shaft.

Derek follows his orders. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises between them fill the room and make Stiles feel like he’s suffocating. He’s lightheaded again just from the scent and the heat that builds up from it. Derek’s hands dig into hips, not only thrusting forward but pulling those hips back, shaking apart the body on the floor. Stiles can’t see his own face any more; it’s pressed forehead down into the carpet while hands dig in for dear life.

As if reading Stiles’ desire to _see_ , Derek wraps an arm around her shoulders, hand on her now long neck and he pulls her all the way back against his chest as he rams up into her. Stiles has noticed discrepancies in how she makes herself look like him; he doesn’t have that much unblemished skin, he’s definitely got more hair on his legs, and his dick doesn’t quite look like that. But she has his face down pretty damn well, and right now it’s overwhelmed. Derek’s furious pace doesn’t falter and it’s forced her eyes closed and her head thrown back. She even grabs at Derek’s arm as if trying to ground herself, but he just pulls one of her legs open further and it causes her to cry out before she comes.

Derek lets her collapse back to the floor, draping himself over her as his thrusts grow erratic. He locks eyes with Stiles again before dipping his head down to her neck and biting down. She lets her head fall to the side, giving him more room to sink his teeth into. Stiles digs his short nails into his own thigh, trying to emulate that feeling as best he can without removing his hands from his pants. Derek is losing all semblance of a rhythm, and Stiles knows he’s close.

"Do it," he chokes out. "Please, do it do it-" Derek growls loudly when he comes, eyes flashing blue and locking with Stiles’ as he grits his fanged teeth, pressing deeply into the body beneath him. Stiles’ eyes roll back as he falls over the edge with him, strips of his release slipping past his hand and landing inches away from Delilah’s sweaty, rumpled hair.

He sags against the wall and tries to catch his breath, wondering if his body will ever stop shaking like this or if he’ll ever come down from this high. He hears a wet sound and opens his eyes to watch Derek pull out of his ruined doppelganger, absently tucking himself back into his pants. Even from his position Stiles can see Derek’s seed leaking out of her and it makes his mouth water all over again. 

On shaky legs, Derek walks over to him, chest covered in a light sheen of sweat and come clinging to his pubic region. Stiles wants to lick all of it off, but Derek grabs his hand first, tongue trailing over fingers to clean up his mess. This is it, Stiles thinks as his spent cock twitches. This is how he dies, thank _god_.

"April 8th," Derek says, the first words out of his mouth since he walked into the room.

"What?" Stiles breathes, brain not fully processing.

"Your birthday is April 8th." Oh. Right. That it is. Stiles blinks as he finally catches up, a tentative smile forming on his face.

"… Can I still watch until then?" he asks. Derek eyes flash again and he presses his nose into Stiles’ throat. Blissfully, Delilah looks up at them from her position on the floor.

"I charge extra for couples, boys."

**Author's Note:**

> (Did you know you can find me on tumblr at jettiebettie.tumblr.com? It's true.)


End file.
